


Rituals

by SeriousMelAM



Series: O For a Quiet Mind [1]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Character Study, Compulsive Behavior, Gen, Mental Illness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-15
Updated: 2014-02-15
Packaged: 2018-01-12 13:55:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1187769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeriousMelAM/pseuds/SeriousMelAM
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Levi is a punctilious man.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rituals

**Author's Note:**

> I have a headcanon that Levi has some degree of obsessive compulsive personality disorder, with a splashing of some more typical OCD behaviors this is an attempt at exploring that idea.

Every morning Levi rises before dawn, while the sun is still a grey rumor on the horizon. He wakes automatically, with no prompting and slides naked into the frigid air. His skin pricks at the cold, but he shakes it off. He has things he must do. He makes his bed, smoothing the sheets with long, thoughtful strokes of his hand, each pass counted silently until he is satisfied.

Once his bed is square and crisp he gets down on the floor, still naked, and does situps and pushups. The floor is immaculate, but the boards are rough-cut wood and the grain makes impressions on the pale skin of his ass and lower back. This he does not mind, there are more important things to be focused on, such as counting his reps. Ten sets of ten. Day after day, ten sets of ten. Never more, never less, and he _never_ loses count. Losing count would mean needing to start over, and he is not a man who has time to start every task over. Next he moves on to a series of stretching postures, which serve to decompress his neck and back. More often than not, when he bends his body at the hips and drops his head down past his knees his spine makes a satisfying run of popping noises and a pleased groan escapes him.

As the eastern sky fades toward a dull white Levi bathes, shaves and dresses leaving his Gear for last. This he lays out on a small table in his quarters, after first unrolling a section of full grain leather, and then an old soft cloth to protect the wood. The process is rote, built into his body so deeply that he can almost no longer hear the quiet version of his own voice whispering, “You must. You must.”

With well practiced fingers he strips down the mechanisms, cleaning and adjusting every valve and gear. He oils and reassembles, pausing to double and triple check each adjustment made. With the spool reassembled he moves his attention to his harness. He runs the leather straps through his fingers, eyes and skin seeking out any signs of wear, stretching or cracking of the leather. This is his life after all. These thin straps are the difference between someone coming home on their horse or wrapped in a sheet, or not at all.

With few exceptions he is not fond of putting so much trust in something outside of himself, something that he can not control. But that is the way of things. That is the way of his life and so he heeds the urges to double check, to assure, to reassure. That muttered voice, deep in his mind demands a third check and he obeys, working conditioner into the leather.

And so the day continues. The sun rises as he takes his breakfast, and he conducts more quiet rituals with each step. He drills with his squad and the new recruits. He feeds, and waters, and brushes down his horses. Everything done at the bidding of that quiet, urging voice.

_This one thing will help them survive._

_This one thing might keep them alive._

_Could you live with yourself if this, one thing was their undoing?_

He finds that the answer is always no.   


End file.
